Page 4 of Hooked

She heard him say, “Have a pleasant night, Olivia,” before the latch on the door clicked softly behind him.

With him out of sight, she didn’t have to quell the tremor of excitement that ran through her. He’d shown concern for her safety, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d always been considerate, holding the door for her or helping her with her coat. If they went out to meet with clients or for depositions, he walked beside her with a guiding hand on the small of her back or beneath her elbow.

That was as far as it went, much to her regret.

He was a gentleman and a throwback to a courtlier time. His mannerly ways were part of his appeal. So rarely did men hold a chair or open a car door for their dates anymore. Women’s strides for independence had backfired on the social niceties they once enjoyed, which Livia, who was rather old-fashioned, sorely missed.

He also had an air of authority, which in other men she found off-putting, but from Joseph, it was different, more of an innate sense of confidence. He ruled his domain with a quiet authority rather than an iron fist, which she also found very attractive.

Before her, rumor had it he’d gone through secretaries like water through a sieve. Some girls still with the firm accused him of having a stick up his ass, although not to his face. Livia realized how his demand for order and exactness might be viewed as perfectionism and, as a boss, make him hard to get along with, if not impossible, to please. She was okay with it, though, preferring knowing what to expect rather than the other partners’ chaos and unpredictability.

Having survived three years in his employ, she was the longest in the position in his twelve-year tenure with the firm. Sadly, in all that time, he’d never shown the slightest interest in her other than as a valued employee. Self-consciously smoothing down her skirt, she asked herself, for the millionth time, why.

Was she too tall, too short, too soft and curvy? Was it her perfume or that he didn’t like blondes? She’d often wondered if it was her clothing. She went with a conservative style at the office but not dowdy. It was Ann Taylor after all. Consignment shop Ann Taylor because of her meager budget, meaning it was a few years behind current fashion, but it was her usual pencil skirt and blouse. Did those ever go out of style?

It was also snug enough on her five-foot-seven, one hundred fifty-pound frame to show off her curves, which she had plenty of, but not be tastelessly tight. Today, she’d topped the winter-white skirt with a floral shell in blues and corals, a coral jacket, and matching heels—double strap, four-inch heels—which were playful but not over the top for work.

She’d been in and out of his office a dozen times today, but he never seemed to notice, unlike the other partners who she often caught staring at her legs or her ass, and most especially her D-cup breasts. She often rationalized that he might prefer men, but that was sour grapes on her part because he never lacked female company.

As the saying went, he just wasn’t into her. Still, what had his odd look just now been about?

She pushed away the silly notion, admonishing herself silently for seeing something that wasn’t there. For years she’d subtly flirted, hinting and hoping, but walked away disappointed time and again. She’d finally given up, conceding it was unlikely he’d ever return her feelings, that her love was unrequited and further efforts were futile. At least that’s what her rational mind said, but she had no control over her irrational heart and ungovernable libido.

With a deep, disappointed sigh, she switched off her desk lamp. He clearly didn’t see her as more than a loyal employee. She smiled to herself. If he saw her in the outfit she planned to wear at the club tonight, maybe she’d earn a second glance.

As she walked to the door, the painting on the wall across from her desk caught her eye. It was a reproduction of Bierstadt’s Emerald Sea. In it, the blues and greens of a turbulent sea contrasted with the blues and grays of a stormy sky. As she stared at the choppy white caps, she realized they weren’t so much emerald as aquamarine, the same color as Joseph’s eyes, before he abruptly vanished inside his office. Although she’d looked at the print every day, five days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, and noted the beautiful blue-green hue, she’d never seen it on him and had to wonder what crossed his mind that caused the sudden change.

Chapter 2

OLIVIA DIDN’T MAKEit out the door, stopped again by a familiar voice. “Hey, girl! Tonight’s the big night. You ready to get your spank on?”

Horrified, she glanced at the office door. Seeing it still closed—thank goodness—she rushed out to meet her friend Emma before she said something else outrageous.

Livia motioned for her to be quiet. “Shh. Keep your voice down. Someone will hear you.”

“Someone like your bow-tie-wearing, tall drink of water, you mean?” she asked with a grin.

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